


Dearly Departed

by destinae



Series: Kill the Messenger [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, i literally hate that i'm allowing myself to make this series happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-05 04:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14036076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinae/pseuds/destinae
Summary: turns out, the entertainment industry is a lot smaller than newt thought it was.





	1. Preface

_Reckoner_ sold out Madison Square Garden two days before Newt's thirty-fifth birthday.

 

A lot had happened in the last six years. Most importantly, the band had been discovered by someone who could throw their weight around well enough to get  _Reckoner_ signed to a label worth shaking a stick at. After that, things had been on the up and up.  _Reckoner_ topped charts, and Newt was living the life he thought he'd only ever dream of. 

 

As for Newt personally, his life was coming out a win. His role in the band had grown from guitarist to occasional lyricist and vocalist, and having  _fans_ \-- like  _people stopping him in the street_ \-- was jarring. Additionally, Newt's collection of tattoos had grown exponentially. A few more years, and Newt was looking at a full, yakuza-style tribute to all the weird nerdy shit that had fueled his adolescence and adulthood. Wealth had also brought welcome change: Newt had paid off his parents' mortgage, bought them a new car, and went otherwise towards cool guitars and charity. As personally indulgent as he was, such ostentatious wealth was nothing to someone who found the most value in the moment.

 

And, good God, were there moments.

 

Moments in the limelight, at red carpets, at award shows holding glimmering trophies and wearing rented tuxes, in hotel rooms with strangers whose faces he couldn't remember, at afterparties surrounded by the kind of radiating positive energy that disappeared as soon as it manifested, and days where things were still and the air was quiet, and all Newt had was four chords and his acoustic.

 

They were going to be performing an invite-only show at some venue back home. While the singer had  _insisted_ that they'd performed there before, Newt had no specific memory of the place-- it had likely been one of many stops on the road to their inevitable success. Honestly, he couldn't even name a venue he'd played at a  **month** ago, so there was no telling how valid the statement was. The plan was to meet the crew a few nights before the show, and run the typical production cycle: a day of tech, a day of rehearsal, the performance that same evening, then pack up and load out the next morning.

 

Newt arrived five minutes late to the introduction. Everyone was sitting around a table in a small office past the ticket booth, inside of which a few white folding tables were surrounded by a series of stools and chairs that had clearly been pulled from a dozen different places within the venue. At the front of the room, where everyone's attention was turned, stood an impressive-looking man with close-cropped hair and an air of unshakeable authority. He was talking ( in a distinctly  _English_ accent ) about running a tight ship and being on time, but Newt was too busy wondering if  _this_  guy was going to be his next conquest.

 

"Sorry I'm late." Newt said, shrugging off his leather jacket. "Got caught up in traffic."

 

The heads in the room swiveled towards him. For the band and traveling crew, an unmistakable expression of resignation marked their faces. As for the in-house crew, only a few of them made an attempt to hide their resentment.

 

"That's Newt," the band's singer said with a grand gesture, "He's the bad boy."

 

A series of snickers from the rest of the band. Newt offered a theatrical bow. "Thank you. Sorry, though. Seriously. It really was traffic this time."  He said, shuffling to the back of the room.

 

No sooner had the man at the front turned back to the bulletin board on the wall, than the door opened again, almost hitting Newt in the shoulder.

 

In came Hermann, glasses hanging around his neck and cane hooked under the arm  _not_ holding the door open.

 

Newt's heart fell out of his chest and landed somewhere around the venue's foundation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the darkest timeline is the one where hermann showed up just a few minutes later and newt had made the executive decision to boink stacker


	2. Chapter 2

Of course he remembered Hermann. How couldn't he?

  
Newt wasn't someone of sentiment, as getting too caught up in the past directly conflicted with his philosophy of living in the moment. That said, the sight of Hermann caused a visceral, gut reaction that Newt's many years of practiced indifference couldn't quite fend off.

 

 _Hammerhead_. The logo of the venue was suddenly in neon lights in the back of Newt's retinas, practically screaming at him, begging for attention. The stage, the dressing room, that fucking loading dock that had seemed to be the center of Newt's universe for that brief series of days-- all of it was suddenly very present. Newt's eyes were practically the size of a small star.

 

The memories of the final night they spent  _together_ flashed through the back of Newt's mind. Red wine and holding one another close, tentative yet sincere kisses, something explorative beyond sexuality had existed in those moments. Newt leaving in the dead of night, refusing to let Hermann have any answers that might have helped both of them.

 

The next morning on the road, he'd ignored a phone call from an unsaved contact. 

 

What would have happened if he'd picked it up?

 

Back in reality, Hermann scanned the room until his eyes landed on Newt, and he seemed to go through a similar ( though much more restrained ) series of thoughts. Newt's mouth fell open, as if he could possibly express the confusion and dread he was feeling at the moment, but snapped back shut. A heavy silence hung in the air, and Newt finally looked away, making direct eye contact with the band's frontman, who looked fucking  _thrilled_ by this entire moment.

 

"I'm sorry for being so late, Stacker." Hermann said to the man that stood at the front of the room, closing the door gently and immediately shuffling away from Newt. "Someone had taken my spot in the parking lot."

 

So he'd gotten a car. Seemed like the both of them had managed to work out pay grade increases. Newt cleared his throat and leaned against the wall, deciding not to engage with Hermann at all until  _after_ the meeting was done with. 

 

The next twenty minutes were a continuous and urgent monologue from Stacker. Venue safety, how to identify staff, how backstage passes would work, what the tech process would look like, and more importantly, call times-- which Newt still hadn't learned to observe. When the meeting was dismissed, Hermann immediately went out the same door he'd come in, and Newt's attempt to pursue him was cut short by the band's manager: Tendo Choi. 

 

Tendo was the kind of person that Newt would be if he had a  _slightly_ more sophisticated sense of style, and had ever gained the self control to say no to neon tattoo sleeves. He was a kind man, though, and he worked himself to the bone for  _Reckoner_. Presently, however, he seemed to be solely focused on reprimanding Newt. "Listen, what's going on, Geiszler?" Tendo asked, tone soft yet stern.

 

"I was late." Newt said sincerely. 

 

Tendo looked at him with a kind of helpless exhaustion. "You haven't been late to a meeting in months. Don't make this a habit, Newt. Please."  He said, giving Newt a pat on the shoulder and turning away. As soon as he did, Newt  _beelined_ out of the room, not having to go far to find Hermann. 

 

"Hey!" He said, voice echoing through the venue's lobby.

 

Hermann turned on a dime, leaning on his cane and looking with Newt with an expression that read distantly of both shock and disdain.

 

They looked at one another from across the lobby for several long moments. Neither of them could move any closer, but neither of them could pull themselves away from the moment. Newt's jaw was set, hands clenched. He let out a sigh. "Hey." He repeated, voice more tame. 

 

More silence from Hermann. 

 

"So you're not at  _Hammerhead_ anymore?" Newt asked, tone more accusatory than he'd intended.

 

"Obviously not, Newton." Hermann replied, tone incredulous. 

 

A sense of grim understanding ran through Newt's mind. "Listen, Hermann..." he said, tone conveying a sincere tone of concern, "About last time, man, we-"

 

"Don't worry about it." 

 

But he  _wanted_ to. "No, Hermann, that's not what I meant." Newt said.

 

"It's what I meant." He said, giving Newt a look that could only be read as a big ol' _ **fuck off**_ , and turning away.

 

Alright. So they needed a little work.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Newt ran into Hermann.

 

Not in the fun, quirky, meet-cute way, either. In a perfect world, Hermann would have dropped all his important papers ( Newt had no way of knowing if Hermann actually had any important papers on him, he just seemed like the kind of guy who would always be scuttling around with an armful of unsecured paperwork for the venue ), and Newt would have helped him pick them up, and they would have ended up adopting a puppy together or something. That sounded right. 

 

However, when Newt ran into Hermann he  **literally** _ran_ into him. It was Newt's turn to run out to the nearest grocery store and grab some stuff for the band. While this was the kind of thing that was usually reserved for a personal manager,  _Reckoner_ had long since given up on that kind of thing. All they really needed was one another ( and Tendo ). Thus, it'd become a long-standing tradition to send one of the bandmates on a grocery store run, and see how long it took them to be recognized. The longest standing record was about twenty minutes. Newt had made it out of the store, into the parking lot, and was presently jamming out to _The Dirty Nil_ and prematurely celebrating his win in the band's little competition.

 

Then, the bumped directly into another cart, resulting in a bang that broke through the frantic guitar blasting in his ears. Frantically, Newt took out his earbuds and shoved them in his pocket. "I'm so sorry, dude. I didn't mean it at all-"

 

And he found himself face-to-face with Hermann. Again. Newt froze in place, soaking in Hermann's incriminating glare. 

 

"I'm sorry." He repeated, swallowing a lump in his throat.

 

"Don't worry about it," Hermann said. 

 

Silently, Newt wondered if that was the only phrase that Hermann was capable of saying anymore. "Listen, man. What's your deal?" Newt asked, "I mean it, dude. What's going on? What, we hook up once and suddenly it's like, ' _he rode my dick once, I can't be nice to him_ '? If that's the case, then fine, but I'd at least like to know what's going on here instead of just being iced out, dude." 

 

Hermann cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. God, he was  _still_ wearing those fucking button-ups. "Newton, you should really stop bringing that up. It's behind me, and it should be behind you, too."

 

A scowl formed on Newt's face, and he crossed his arms. For once, it was  _his_ turn to be speechless. For all intents and purposes, it should have been as easy for Newt to let go of it as it had been for Hermann, but for some reason, Newt didn't  _want_ to let it go. He wanted the closure that he'd made a point to avoid, and he wanted to see Hermann unwind, even if only for a few seconds.

 

When Newt was back in the car he'd rented for their time in town, he allowed himself to sit back with his arms folded and his expression sour while he thought the whole thing over. At this point, he'd come to terms with several things: Hermann was still as much of an asshole as the first time they'd met, this show was going to be a hell of a journey, and Newt absolutely _needed_ to get back into the same bed as Hermann before he left town.

 

That gave him three days.

 

Game on.


	4. Chapter 4

"You should let it go, Newt." Tendo said, leaning against the doorway to the dressing room. "I mean... I understand that he's some kind of carrot at the end of a stick to you, but... I mean, you're basically harassing him."

 

Newt nodded, leaning back in the chair and twiddling his thumbs as he thought on it. "I mean... he's gotta like me. He seemed to like me a lot when-"

 

"When you had sex, yes. We've been over this. You can also have sex with people you don't care for, Newt."

 

A pause. "What a waste of energy."

 

Tendo laughed and shook his head. "Not everyone's got the same winning attitude as you, Geiszler." 

 

"That's not my problem. Hermann's my problem."

 

"Not really, man. " Tendo replied, standing up straight. "I mean... he's clearly not interested, you're wasting a lot of energy that you could spend on... I mean, honestly, anyone else in this venue."

 

"But-"

 

Tendo held up a hand, silencing Newt, who looked resigned but indignant. "Newt, he's moved on. You need to as well. Bottom line. I don't want to ruin your band's relationship with this place. Do you have any idea how hard it is to book the  _Otachi_?" He shook his head. "Just be careful, alright? Take care."

 

With that, Tendo turned and left the room, and Newt found himself concerned.

 

Maybe Tendo was right. Maybe it was a better idea on Newt's behalf to just focus on an easier target. Sex was a valid way to let out frustration, wasn't it? He drummed his fingers on his thigh for a second, staring at the still-open door and wondering if it was worth raising a little hell.

 

It was.

 

About twenty minutes later, Newt was by a series of interesting-looking glowing switches backstage, one hand braced against the wall, the other one gesturing as he recounted stories of his life on the road to a techie who looked at Newt like he was the second coming of christ. Given that the tech in question didn't have a headset on, Newt didn't feel that it was particularly important that they stay focused on whatever menial task that they were assigned to-- not that he'd know. He was intentionally learning as little about the other guy as possible.

 

By the time sound check ran, Newt had plans to grab some coffee with them once they were done for the day.

 

Needless to say, they got about halfway through their coffee ( a white mocha for Newt and a vanilla iced coffee for the intern, who he learned was named  _Reagan_ , which he'd insisted had nothing to do with the president ) before promptly disappearing from the café, reappearing in the ( very nice,  _mind you_ ) hotel Newt had holed up in for the night, shirtless and panting and worn out.

 

Newt, being a good host, showed the guy the door before returning to his hotel room, taking a shower, and immediately coming to terms with the fact that  _despite_  the fact that the sex had actually been pretty alright, that wasn't going to cut it.

 

The next day would be the show, and Newt wasn't ready to let go of this.

 

It took him almost thirty minutes of agitated scrolling through his missed calls, but Newt finally found the number that had dialed him after he'd left the  _Hammerhead_ six years previous.

 

It range twice, and then the click as it was picked up.

 

"Hello?" A distinctly female voice asked, and Newt's blood ran cold.

 

"Hey," He said, chest tight for a moment. "Is, uh, is Hermann there? Hermann Gottlieb?"

 

A long silence. "I think you have the wrong number, honey."

 

"Alright, thanks." 

 

The call ended, and Newt threw his phone against the wall. 

 

It wasn't about seducing Hermann, or Newt convincing Hermann that somehow they could be good for one another. At this point, it was about getting the closure that Newt had convinced himself that he could live without. It was about the fact that somehow, of all the people that Newt had slept with, Hermann was the only one that chewed him up. It was the fact that he'd had a nagging feeling in his chest for  _six years_ , and he finally knew what it was coming from. 

 

Newt was being a little selfish, but Newt had never claimed to be anything  _but_ self-serving.

 

The next day, Newt would show up  _on time_ for call.


	5. Chapter 5

Newt's phone rang three separate times before he picked it up.

 

"Where the hell are you, Newton?"

 

Hermann's voice, practically the last time he expected to hear while he was getting ready to go to the venue. "Uh, a hotel room." Newt replied, glancing at his watch. He wasn't late. In fact, if he left right then, he'd still be about thirty minutes early. 

 

"You should be here."

 

"No... no I shouldn't." Newt replied, putting the phone on speaker and beginning to go through his emails to make sure he had the right time.

 

He did.

 

"I see your punctuality has finally managed to evade you." 

 

"Uh... sure." Newt said, "Listen, I just checked and I'm fine on time."

 

A sigh crackled through the phone. "Well, I have to talk to you about something."

 

"Oh?" Newt asked, smiling and sitting back down on his bed. "What's that?"

 

"One of my interns-"

 

Newt didn't hear the end of Hermann's sentence, because he was too busy laughing. 

 

"Newt, this is quite serious-"

 

He continued to laugh, falling back on the head, then rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. 

 

"You can't-"

 

Another bout of laughter. Newt heard Hermann groan.

 

"Let me know when you're done."

 

One deep breath later, Newt found it in himself to speak. "Man, I'm sorry. How'd you hear?"

 

"Well, I walked into the green room and he was describing-" a hesitation. "-it."

 

"Yeah, and?" Newt asked, "Listen man, I get it might have rubbed you the wrong way-" a snicker, "- but it's a tradition."

 

"I know, Newton."

 

Oh yeah. He did. "You're not jealous, are you?" Newt asked, grinning.

 

"I wouldn't say.... I wouldn't say  **jealous**. Just appalled."

 

"You didn't seem appalled--"

 

"Newt."

 

A long pause. Both of them had nothing to say.

 

"Come to  _Otachi_."

 

Now, Newt wasn't the kind of person to make a habit of following orders. That said, there was something uniquely exciting about the orders  _Hermmann_ gave, so he arrived at the venue no more than 15 minutes later.

 

Hermann had been kind enough to wait for him in the parking lot. Newt walked right up to him, making a kind of defiant eye contact. "You called."

 

More silence, which felt familiar in a  _different_ way. They stared each other down for what felt like an eternity, and finally Hermann spoke. "Never touch one of my employees again."

 

If Newt knew how much he liked Hermann being this assertive, he might have fucked one of the interns sooner. "Yes sir," Newt said, voice sarcastic.

 

"I mean it, Newton." Hermann said, picking up his cane and tapping it against Newt's chest. "One more thing." He pursed his lips. "Follow me."

 

And so they walked into the  _Otachi_ in shared silence, stopping only when they'd arrived in what seemed to be a storage place for the stage lights not presently being used. It was a room about the size of a dumpster-- big enough to hold what it needed, and small enough that Newt and Hermann stood about four inches away from one another. 

 

Before the door to the storage shut, Hermann was kissing Newt. "You tell this to no one, understand?" Hermann asked, before kissing him again. 

 

This was the kind of adolescent bullshit that Newt was  **here** for. His hands frantically grasped the material of Hermann's sweater, and he kissed him back. "Yeah, scout's honor." Newt muttered, lips barely leaving Hermann's as he kissed him again. "You know," he added between kisses, "If that was all it took-"

 

Hermann pulled away, giving Newt a severe look. "For the love of God, leave him out of this. I'm just trying to avoid any more disasters."

 

"Disaster?" Newt echoed, eyebrows shooting halfway up his forehead. "Listen man, that sex was fantastic-"

 

"Shut up." Another kiss.

 

About five minutes later, they were practically leaning into one other, bodies pressed together. The kisses were lazier now, slower, less deliberate. Finally, Newt worked up the chutzpah to say something. "Listen, this is hot, don't get me wrong, but-- I mean, I would have preferred that we started here."

 

"I would have preferred that you didn't walk out on me."

 

"That's not fair-"

 

"It absolutely is, Newt." Hermann countered, resting his forehead against Newt's. "I, for one, did  **not** take kindly to the idea of you sleeping with me and leaving town."

 

This was really killing the hard-on Newt was sporting. "Yeah, I know." He said, pulling away slightly. "But, I mean, what was I supposed to do, man?"

 

"Of all the  _possible_ approaches that you could have taken to that situation, I think that the one you took was probably the least  **constructive**." Hermann replied.

 

"I think you should've known that I am  _not_ the kind of person to be constructive, Hermann."

 

An exasperated sigh, and Hermann let go of Newt. "You haven't changed at all."

 

"And you're still a hyp-" Newt swallowed a lump in his throat. "Alright... alright, listen, man. What's going on here?" Silence. "I mean it. Is this just going to be a thing we do, from now on? Bump heads for a few days, then get rough and never talk about it? I mean, if that's the case, it's fine, like-- whatever, I mean it, but just let me  _know_ that's what's going on." Silence. "And stop staring at me like that, Hermann! I mean... you always look like I just asked you if your mom was single. It's not a hard question."

 

Hermann sighed and grabbed the door handle. "I think it'd be better for both of us if we kept it simple, Newton."

 

"Are you sure about that?" Newt asked, "Because I don't think there was anything  _simple_ about what I had to do to get you to look me in the fucking eye, man!"

 

"I'm not going to talk about a relationship in the storage closet, Newton."

 

  
"Then we can talk about it in the booth."

 

"That's- no." Hermann replied, letting go of the door handle and turning to face Newt fully. "I don't know what you're asking, Newt, but assume the answer is no."

 

"You are a goddamn  _enigma_ , Hermann!" Newt said, walking past Hermann and opening the door, walking out and taking a deep breath of the freshly-mopped hallway. "I'm not playing cat and mouse with you, dude. Shit's bad for you. So, give me an answer. I need an answer. What the hell do you want out of this?"

 

Hermann seemed baffled by the question, also leaving the storage room and gently closing the door behind him. "I don't think that this is an appropriate conversation to have right now." He said flatly.

 

Fine. 

 

They'd end up having it as soon as Newt left the stage after encore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> newt and hermann leave the 2018 pyeongchang olympics with gold in couple's dysfunction


	6. Chapter 6

Newt sprinted into the wings hot on the tail of a roaring crowd. His guitar swung wildly at his side as he high-fived the frontman, and they all shouted over one another excitedly. Backstage, a number of techs scrambled to pick up wires and run final transitions. 

 

Someone handed Newt a towel, and he frantically wiped the sweat from his eyes. He handed off his guitar to one of the sound crew and made a beeline to his room, where he immediately collapsed onto the counter, breathing heavily and waiting for the adrenaline to subside. One of the interns ran in and handed him a bottled water, which Newt downed in two ambitious gulps.

 

More heavy breathing. They had about an hour before they were supposed to go out back and meet fans, but that wasn't quite on Newt's mind. 

 

Before anything else, Newt cleaned himself up. Given the fact that he'd be talking to fans at... some point after this, he thought it'd behoove him to have a look worth documenting. One ripped pair of skinny jeans and a faded  _Bon Jovi_ t-shirt later, Newt was pacing down the hallway back towards the stage.

 

And, of course, right into Tendo.

 

"Newt! My man, how are you feeling? You did amazing tonight." Tendo said, ruffling Newt's already-wild hair. "Though... you should stop throwing your shirt into the audience. Those are designer shirts. I think they're the ones Kanye West makes."

 

"Yeah, right." Newt said, not at all listening to a word that Tendo was saying.

 

"Also... you didn't--" a laugh, "You didn't sleep with one of the interns, right?" Tendo asked.

 

The guilty pause was all that was needed.

 

"Don't... that's not what I meant, Newt." Tendo sighed and adjusted his jacket. "Alright, in the future? Maybe wait until they're out of college, alright?" Tendo asked. 

 

"Aye aye." Newt responded, backing away from Tendo slowly. "Anything else?"

 

"Nah man, you're good for now."

 

At that, Newt turned away and paced through the winding backstage corridors until he managed to find Hermann, who was carrying an unidentifiable piece of sound equipment.

 

"Hermann!" He said, half-jogging to catch up with him. "Hey, man."

 

"Not now, Newton." Hermann replied, not even looking at him.

 

"I just want to talk," Newt protested.

 

"Then you can save it for later."

 

"Hermann, seriously dude-"

 

"I'm trying to do my bloody job, Newton." Hermann said, stopping suddenly and looking at Newt. "I don't have the luxury of being able to come and go as I please. If you want to talk, it will have to wait until I'm done making my living."

 

"And when's that going to be?"

 

Hermann glared. Newt glared back. "Two hours."

 

Newt spend the two hours behind the venue, being showered in praise that felt overwhelmingly empty.


	7. Chapter 7

Ego sufficiently stroked, Newt ducked back inside of the venue. He had enjoyed the attention, and as he grouped up with the band, he soaked in a few waning moments of calm.

 

Things were already being packed up into the bus. They had another day in town, and then the evening after that, _Reckoner_ would be skipping town.

 

A few lengthy discussions of travel itinerary ( largely, a debate between whether In-N-Out or Five Guys would be their pit stop ) ended up dragging the meeting out to a full hour. It was Tendo who finally broke it up, saying that they could stop at both places if everyone had a good attitude and quit starting arguments about arbitrary things.

 

It had been three hours since Newt had seen Hermann. He was walking back to his dressing room, about to start packing up the few belongings he had brought into the space, when he heard Hermann walk in.

 

"What's up, man?" He asked, idly wrapping his phone charger around his hand as he looked over his shoulder at Hermann expectantly.

 

"Well, I thought I'd make sure you-"

 

"You can just say you wanted to see me, Hermann." Newt said with a smile.

 

The dry look from Hermann told him that this was a professional visit.

 

"Alright, sorry." His tone was apologetic. "What's up?"

 

"I thought I'd make sure you didn't need any help. The rest of the crew's still cleaning up the house."

 

"Well, there  _is_ something I'd like some help with." With that, Newt winked.

 

"Anything I can help you with  _professionally_ , Newton."

 

A groan. "What's it gonna  **take** , man?" Newt asked, "I mean--" He shoved the charger into his bag, then began to put various good luck charms in there. "I mean, how do you do it, dude? Just compartmentalize it all?" A pause. Newt turned his gaze to Hermann. "I mean it. You fucking shove your tongue down my throat for what felt like twenty minutes earlier today, and now you're more chaste than a fucking  _Catholic_." He let out an exasperated sigh. "You-- Hermann, I don't fucking get it. Do you really think that you're the first one-night stand I've run in to a second time?" Newt tossed some deodorant into the bag, closing it and turning his attention back to Hermann. "I like you, dude-"

 

"You  _like_ me?" Hermann asked, tone carrying an incredulous tone. "Is this how you treat the people that you _like_ , Newton?"

 

Silence. Newt stared at Hermann, mouth hanging slightly open as some kind of invisible puzzle piece in his mind slipped into place. Hermann was...  _upset_? 

 

He immediately regretted his silence as Hermann pulled out his figurative soapbox and began lecturing. "I apologize for not falling to my  _knees_ in gratitude for being among the chosen dozens, Newton." Hermann pointed at Newt with his cane, "Do you think I spent the last six years of my life waiting for you to grace me with your presence again?"

 

Feeling fairly humiliated, Newt just crossed his arms, teeth grinding. Hermann was getting a  _kick_ out of this.

 

"You've become convinced that your attention is the most valuable attention that you can give someone." Hermann said, head shaking "But, I can't blame you. You're a rockstar, Newton. It's in your nature. Consider what happened earlier today to be a lapse in judgement."

 

There were a lot of things Newt wanted to say. "Fine." The word landed between them with a thud.

 

Hermann continued to glare at Newt for a few moments before turning away, making an ardent attempt at leaving before Newt spoke up again.

 

"Alright, wait."

 

Newt had once again spoken without thinking.

 

"What's it gonna take, Hermann?"

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"What'll it take for me to prove that I'm serious about this?"

 

"You can't just build a checklist for being a good person, Newton."

 

That sounded annoying and wrong. "That sounds annoying and wrong."

 

"Maybe the first step could be not calling every inconvenience annoying and wrong."

 

That sounded frustrating and incorrect. Newt groaned. "Fine. Alright. Fair. You win. How about breakfast tomorrow?"

 

Hermann paused. "Breakfast?" He echoed.

 

"Yeah. I'll cook."

 

"You don't have a kitchen."

 

"You do."

 

Newt could have sworn he saw a smile tease the corner of Hermann's mouth. "Fine," He said, fingers drumming on the grip of his cane, "But you have to bring all the ingredients. I don't need you wasting my eggs."

 

"Wasting?" Newt asked, "I'll have you know that my mom voted me  _most likely not to burn the omelette every time_ , Hermann."

 

"Goodbye, Newton."

 

"Wait." 

 

"I don't have forever-"

  
"Let me give you my number." Newt said, grabbing a copy of the setlist and a sharpie and scribbling it down, folding it up and handing it off to Hermann. "Text me if you want to. Or call, if you're feeling amish."

 

Hermann said nothing, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket and finally leaving.

 

It took Newt about twenty minutes to pack up his things, after which he hightailed it to the nearest grocery store and suffered an identity crisis in aisle three because he couldn't pick a favorite brand of maple syrup. Newt had a big day ahead, everything had to be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lil wayne voice] yeah im a dick girl , im addicted to you
> 
> i'm gonna kick my ass into gear and finish this installment so I can throw down a few more chapters on my professor AU. stay funky fresh, friends.


	8. Chapter 8

Newt spent about three hours that evening reading recipes on his computer, all of which claimed to have the fluffiest and tastiest pancakes on Earth. He then spent two _more_  hours attempting to make pancakes, discovering that they  _weren't_  as easy to make in practices as they were in theory, and ended up collapsing, shirtless with his hands caked with dried batter, at three in the morning.

 

He was rudely awoken by the sound of his phone ringing. With a yelp and then an extended groan, Newt rose from the bed of his  _surprisingly_ well-furnished hotel room and picked up the phone.

 

"Newton, do you know what time it is?"

 

There were a series of fantasies that Newton had previously conceived that involved waking up to the sound of Hermann's voice, but none of them involved such a cutting tone. Newt glanced at the feeble, digital clock on the nightstand. 

 

Eleven AM. Newt laughed to himself. "What are your opinions on brunch, Hermann?"

 

A crackling sigh. "Charming but unnecessary."

 

"It was-- Hermann, it was rhetorical." Newt said, now going through a small duffel bag by his bed, grabbing his last decent outfit. "Though--  _charming_?"

 

"Newton--"

 

"I know," Newt said, doing his best, posh English accent. "I'm late and it's absolutely  ** _ABHORRENT_** that I would be tardy for this affair!" He shuffled into some sweatpants, "How unacceptable that I would stay up for five hours making sure that the radius of my pancakes was adequate enough to fit into your flat, disapproving mouth." Newton put the phone on speaker, dropping it on to the bed and switching shirts, returning to his regular voice. "Next time I'll be sure to feed you the burnt bullshit I cooked up in my first batch."

 

A pause. "You were going to make pancakes?"

 

"Well, I wasn't going go give you the raw batter, was I?" Newton asked, putting forth a herculean effort not to make a comment about giving his batter to Hermann. 

 

"I'll be honest, Newt, I thought you'd be bringing me McDonalds."

 

"Sorry to disappoint." Newt said, picking up his phone and returning to the kitchen. "It's kind of in my nature, honestly. Disappointment, that is. Not McDonalds. Though, McDonalds is pretty delicious."

 

 "No, that's--" A pause. "I'll send you my address. Don't be late."

 

The phone call ended abruptly, and a few moments later, Newt received Hermann's location. 

 

One Uber ride later, Newt was at the entrance to a rustic-looking apartment complex. It looked old and well-lived, but not decrepit. It kind of looked like an old book  _smelled_ , which fit Hermann so well that Newt wondered if Hermann had built it himself. Newt called Hermann, and the phone rang three times.

 

"Yes?" 

 

"Oh, I'm here." Newt said, shuffling his weight from foot to foot, gaze falling to the ground. 

 

"Really?" Hermann asked, tone clearly doubtful. 

 

"Yes, really. Now let me in, this pancake mix is getting  _really heavy_."

 

A few moments passed, and there was a buzz from the call box by the front door, and a loud click. "It's unlocked. I'm room four-hundred and twenty."

  
Newt, who was already walking down the hallway towards an ancient elevator, almost collapsed in laughter. He wheezed, trying to get a sentence out, but failing as he continued to cackle. "Oh man--" he said, tapping the up button the elevator. "Dude, that's fucking amazing."

 

"I didn't pick it."

 

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't." Newt replied. The elevator dinged. "I'll be up there in a few, my dank dude."

 

Hermann hung up, giving Newt a feeling to  _not_ make any number-based jokes to Hermann.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been listening to a lot of Set It Off while writing this. Duality is literally the soundtrack of this fic. Should I make a playlist for this fic?


End file.
